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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26667499">Fine Stock</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit'>libbertyjibbit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aphrodisiacs, Breeding, Drugged Sex, Drugging, F/M, Face-Sitting, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Restraints, Ritual Sex, Table Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:20:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26667499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lukas family is very big on tradition; Martin knew this before marrying Peter. The night of their wedding, he finds out just what one of those traditions entails.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/The Lukas Family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fine Stock</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks as always to MildredMost for the beta.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You know, you did the right thing," Peter assured him, leading Martin down one of the many halls in the frankly ridiculously large Moorland House (<em>House,</em> Martin thought, a bit hysterically. <em>This thing is about as much a house as the Atlantic is an actual pond</em>), hand at the small of his back. Martin wanted to pull away, but he didn't. It was a test, he thought. A way to see if he meant what he'd just done. Peter <em>wanted</em> Martin to pull away, so that he could give another condescending speech about committing to a course of action and not wavering. As if Martin could waver now.<br/>
<br/>
"So you keep saying," he retorted, not even bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Worried I'll change my mind?"<br/>
<br/>
"Not at all," Peter was smiling. Martin refused to look at him, but he knew that tone. Peter used it on him often, and it always came with the same smile, as though Martin were an unexpected treat. "There's no changing it now, even if you wanted to. What's done is done, as they say." He slipped his hand up Martin's back to squeeze his neck; Martin suppressed a shiver but he suspected Peter knew how he was affecting him anyway. Peter always seemed to know. "You're so tense. You really should be relaxed for what's to come."<br/>
<br/>
Martin rolled his eyes. "I know 'what's to come,' and it's not that impressive," he snapped, then sighed. "It’s not you. It's this place. It's-"<br/>
<br/>
"A bit daunting, I know. You do get used to it, not that you'll have to. We're off tomorrow. I hope you won't mind forgoing the traditional honeymoon. I do have an institute to run, after all. Business to complete."<br/>
<br/>
"People to avoid. Don't worry, I'm not expecting anything romantic." Now Martin <em>did</em> shudder, but this time he made no attempt to hide it. Peter wanted Martin to remember that he couldn't leave; Martin wanted Peter to remember that he had his own reasons for staying, and none of them had anything to do with him.<br/>
<br/>
Peter drew him to a stop in front of the last door in the hall. Martin reached for the handle, but before his hand could make contact Peter was gripping his arm, spinning him around and pressing him back against the door, mouth hard and insistent on his.<br/>
<br/>
Martin surged into the kiss, mouth opening, hands clutching at Peter's suit jacket to drag him even closer, legs widening to make room for Peter’s bulk between them. He'd been half hard just walking down the hall, and he could feel himself swelling at the simple brush of Peter's cock against his. He hated himself for it, but he didn't stop. If anything he pressed closer, back arching.<br/>
<br/>
Peter grabbed double handfuls of his arse and squeezed; Martin moaned. <em>He's going to make me come right here,</em> he thought, as Peter urged him to roll his hips against him. <em>Going to make me come and then when I open my eyes his whole family will be standing there, watching -</em><br/>
<br/>
The idea sent a not entirely unpleasant shiver down his spine, but then Peter pulled back and of course no one was there. Why would there be? The god they served wasn't interested in watching; only in the loneliness that came with knowing no one cared.<br/>
<br/>
Peter looked him up and down, then reached out, smoothing the lines of his jacket. "Yes, you'll do just fine, I think," he said, his touch lingering.<br/>
<br/>
Martin frowned. Peter could be handsy and often touched him, but that was always in a possessive, signified way, like he wanted Martin to know who he belonged to. This touch however was oddly passive, almost fidgety, and that wasn’t like Peter at all. "Fine for what?"<br/>
<br/>
Peter smiled. "The completion of our vows, of course. Your official welcome into the family." He stroked a hand down Martin's cheek, this time in his old familiar way; Martin tried and failed not to lean into the caress. "I'm sure you'll do well."</p><p>~****~</p><p>Martin's first impression when he entered the room and beheld the faces of the Lukas family was that they were all extraordinarily cold. Of course he expected that, Peter was cold too, but Peter put on the trappings of warmth to lure his prey. His family either didn't need to or simply didn't see the point.<br/>
<br/>
All of their eyes were the same shade of blue, and all of them were giving him the same hard stare, as though he were an interloper, an outsider. But of course he wasn't anymore. He was a Lukas by name if not by blood, and he had the paperwork and the glint of gold on his finger to prove it. Like it or not, he was one of them, and he supposed it was that that had the eldest of them stepping forward after a moment, hand out. "Welcome to the family," he said, in a voice as frosty as his eyes. Martin felt the room drop ten degrees when he grasped the man's hand, surprisingly strong in spite of the frail old man's body. He shook once, firmly, then dropped Martin's hand, wiping his own on his trousers as he’d touched something dirty. Martin felt his face heat.<br/>
<br/>
"And what a family it is," said a man standing by the drinks cabinet. He was holding a nearly full tumbler in his hand and the other held on to the side of the cabinet; even with the assistance he was swaying on his feet. Martin guessed that he'd already had a few. "Tell me, how much did Peter pay for your soul?"<br/>
<br/>
The old man sighed and closed his eyes. "Forgive Evan," he said. "He and Peter never did get along."<br/>
<br/>
"Evan?" Martin echoed, startled. He peered more closely at the man. "But you're - you died."<br/>
<br/>
Evan laughed. "Did I? Yes, I suppose I did. I certainly don't have a life, not anymore." He raised the glass in his hand towards Martin in a toast and downed it in two gulps, then leaned heavily against the cabinet as he poured out two more, shaking hands making the glass chime softly. Finished, he made his unsteady way to where Martin still stood just inside the threshold of the room, his entire family (sans Peter) watching in silence.<br/>
<br/>
He handed one of the glasses to Martin, who peered inside. Whiskey, and considering the size of this place and the casual way Peter tossed around money, not the cheap stuff, either. Martin didn’t care for the dink as a rule but he was glad it was the good kind; he thought that a cheaper brand might make Evan reek even more, and the smell was almost overpowering as it was. <em>I bet his clothes would stand up without him</em> Martin thought, and tried to lean subtly away.<br/>
<br/>
Evan caught him at it; he gave a wry smile. “I’d drink the whole thing, if I were you,” he said stepping back into Martin's space and gently tapping their glasses together. “It’ll make it easier.”<br/>
<br/>
Martin looked at him then, really looked. His eyes were hard like the rest, but haunted, and his face was drawn and tight. That more than anything made Martin obey; he lifted his glass and drank, ignoring the burn of the alcohol as he followed Evan’s example and finished it in large gulps. The alcohol warmed him a little bit at least, he thought. Evan took the glass back with a smile that was sympathetic but pitiless. "Welcome to the family," he said. "I wish like hell you'd thought better of it."<br/>
<br/>
Martin wished he had, too. But of course there'd never been a choice; that was the whole point.</p><p>He wasn’t sure what he was doing there specifically, though. That the marriage must take place at Moorland House he understood, sort of. That he must meet the rest of the family he understood. But he didn’t know why he had to do it alone, or why no one seemed to actually <em>want </em>to meet him. They all simply stared as if waiting for something, though Martin couldn’t figure out what.</p><p>He shifted, feeling odd. Uncomfortable. Rather than fading, the warmth of the alcohol seemed to be spreading, making sweat bead on his brow despite the chill of the room. His skin prickled and his limbs grew heavy; he swallowed hard and looked over to where Evan was leaning against the wall next to the drinks cabinet as though it were the only thing keeping him upright, watching him with the same focused stare as the rest of his family. “Y-“ he started, voice thick and slurred. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You drugged me.”</p><p>“That I did,” Evan answered with a kind of grim good cheer. “Drugging is part of the tradition, and the Lukas family is very big on tradition. Didn’t Peter tell you?”</p><p>“It’s tradition,” Peter had said when he’d asked why he had to go into the Lonely the week before the wedding. “Tradition,” he had likewise answered when Martin had questioned the location for the ceremony. Tradition, tradition, tradition. He’d never mentioned this part, however. Martin wasn’t surprised, not really. It was like Peter, not to say anything. Like him to let Martin find out in just this way. Martin wondered if he was watching this, somehow. It was exactly the sort of thing he would do.</p><p>“What are you going to do to me?” he asked.</p><p>The old man smiled for the first time. It made him look younger, and almost handsome. It should have calmed Martin down, but instead he felt an icy bolt of fear slide into his stomach. The old man gestured towards the large table in the center of the room, and only then did Martin see the restraints. He swallowed hard.</p><p>The man’s smile grew. “We’re going to make you a part of the family,” he said.</p><p>The combination of drugs and alcohol did their work nicely. Martin tried to fight as he was stripped and strapped to the table, but there were too many of them, and his limbs were heavy and sluggish. Naked, he was laid out like the sacrifice he was, arms and legs stretched wide and tethered, leaving him open and ready. He should be horrified, and deep down he was, but there had been something else in the drink as well, something that made him feel hot, made him ache. His cock was standing at attention, filled with blood and curling towards his stomach, and even as he tugged uselessly at his restraints Martin could feel his hips twitching, seeking friction.</p><p>One of the women got on the table, straddling him. Martin craned his neck to see her face, but her back was turned to him. Fingernails – long and tapered – ran up and down his cock, and he gasped. “Look at this,” she said, still running her nails up and down Martin’s cock, making him squirm. “Peter chose well. He will do nicely.”</p><p>“Good,” the man said. “Peter mentioned he was strong, too. Resilient. Good qualities to have.” He smiled. “He’s fine stock. I knew Peter wouldn’t disappoint.”</p><p>“Yes,” the woman agreed. Her fingers disappeared from his cock and Martin let out a soft noise of protest before he could help himself. “He’s close; it’ll be quick, and a quick recovery, too. Peter primed him perfectly.” She raised herself up and moved forward slightly, then slowly lowered herself onto Martins cock.</p><p>She was wet, and slick, and hot, and Martin moaned, thrusting up into her body. She sighed in languid pleasure and began to rock on top of him, moving back and forth and then in small circles, clearly chasing her own pleasure and caring nothing for his. It hardly mattered, though. He was already mindless with the need to come. Martin thrust up helplessly, moaning again, head thrown back, arms and legs straining against his bindings. He felt her fingers bump against his cock and he realized that she was touching herself, fingers rubbing over her clit, breath coming shorter as she worked to get herself off. She gasped, the muscles of her cunt tightening around him, and it was enough to set him off too, his own body tightening as he came.</p><p>She ground down on him for a few moments more, riding out the last of her orgasm, then lifted herself off of him, giving another of those small sighs when he slid out of her. His cock fell to rest against his thigh, moist from her body and his own spend, and the feeling of it resting against him was exciting, arousing. He shifted slightly, restless, still impossibly turned on.</p><p>Another woman climbed on top of him. She was younger than the first one had been, and she faced him rather than away. She gazed at him for a long moment. “I like his face,” she said finally. “I wouldn’t mind it if the baby had it.”</p><p>Martin went cold. “The what?” he croaked, his voice hoarse, but of course he didn’t really need the answer. It all made a horrifying kind of sense, in retrospect.</p><p>They ignored him. “The baby will be a Lukas, and that is all that matters.”</p><p>“Yes, I know.” She bowed her head briefly, then brightened. “Of course Peter wouldn’t have picked an ugly one.”</p><p>There was a derisive snort from the direction of the drinks cabinet. Martin turned his head, but then a hand closed over him and his attention shifted to his body, namely to his cock, which was hard again, far too soon. The hand on him felt good but he sensed that there would come a time, probably sooner than he thought, when it didn’t. </p><p>The hand stroked once, twice, and then the woman was guiding his cock inside of her with a soft noise. “Yes,” she said, voice blurry. “Oh, yes. Peter <em>did</em> choose well.” She began to rock, and Martin’s eyes rolled up in his head. So good. It was so good, the heat of her, the way she felt around him, tight and wet. He didn’t want it to be but it was.</p><p>Fingers gripped his chin and turned his head; something brushed against his lips and Martin opened for it instinctively. Somewhere above him a man moaned, and then the cock – because of course that’s what it was, hot and hard and leaking at the tip – was hitting the back of his throat. Martin gagged, then gagged again, but all it did was make the man moan even more loudly. The woman on top of him moaned too, and it was only when she pressed her fingers deep into his cheeks that Martin realized that she was the one guiding his head. She squeezed harder, so hard that Martin could feel the man’s cock along the inside of his of his cheeks, and moaned again. He felt how it was affecting her, how wet it made her to watch, and she began to ride him hard. One of her hands sank into his hair and forced him even farther down on the cock in his mouth, and Martin’s eyes watered and his body jerked from lack of air, but he moaned anyway, pushing his hips up to meet hers and not fighting the hand in his hair. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, he was sure…but he didn’t want to.</p><p>Stars were beginning to burst behind Martin’s closed eyes when the man using his mouth finally relented, pulling away and giving him a moment to breathe. Martin took a gasping breath, then another, chest heaving. The woman’s hands left him and there was a rustling noise, followed by a soft thump next to first one ear, then the other. Martin opened his eyes. One of the younger men was straddling his face, cock out and hanging just over his mouth, slick with precome and Martin’s spit. Martin drew a sharp breath in through his nose and opened his mouth for it. This time the man sank in slowly, teasing almost, and as he did Martin felt another pair of hands at his arse, spreading open his cheeks and baring his hole.  He moaned, widening his legs and thrusting his arse towards the hands as best he could. <em>Yes, this</em>, he thought, and <em>please</em>. He’d never wanted anything as badly as he wanted something, anything inside of him right then. He gave a muffled cry when a cock finally breached him, coming almost before he was aware it was happening. The woman on top of him groaned and rocked down harder, her cunt tightening around his cock, milking him.</p><p>It went on and on. When one came and moved off or out of him, another took their place, and at some point Martin stopped caring; simply gave himself up to what was happening, surrendering to the pleasure that edged farther into pain the longer it went on. It began to hurt to come, but he did, over and over, and still he grew hard. Still he wanted more. In the brief moments his mouth was unoccupied he begged for it, voice ragged, breath whistling in this throat. They ignored his pleas as they ignored everything else that he did, and the longer it went on the less like himself Martin felt, the less real. He didn’t mind. He wanted it, wanted to surrender to the feeling of being so very alone, even as he was physically connected to others.</p><p>He didn’t matter, not here. All he was to them was a body, something to be used, and that somehow made it even better. He didn’t know if it was the drug that Evan had given him or his own strengthening connection to the Lonely making him love this so much. Or maybe it was just him. Maybe this was what he’d always needed, and he’d needed Peter and his family to bring it out of him.</p><p>The last of the woman came on his cock, shuddering and working her hips down into him until he shook too and spilled inside of her. “Very good,” the old man said. He’d watched the entire thing but made no move to touch Martin or any of the others, but now he stepped forward and ran surprisingly gentle hands over the inside of Martin’s thighs.</p><p>“You’ve done well,” he said, and Martin trembled under his touch, pleased with the praise. “Peter will be proud.”</p><p><em>I don’t care if he is</em> Martin thought, but of course it wasn’t true. He could feel the mix of pleasure and hope winding through him at the old man’s words; the need for Peter’s approval.</p><p>“Look at him,” a slurred voice derided. Evan. “So pathetically grateful to be here. How proud you all must be. Finally someone worthy of the Lukas name. Finally someone worthy of precious Peter.”</p><p>He stumbled over to Martin and peered down at him. His words were slurred and his eyes red-rimmed, but he still seemed far too sober for how much he’d been drinking. “Pathetic,” he said again, and Martin flinched.</p><p>“Evan,” the old man warned, and Evan gave a bitter laugh.</p><p>“Right. Right. Must complete the set, yeah? Isn’t final until we’ve all had a taste. Even if we’d rather not.”</p><p>The old man said nothing, and Evan bowed his head, shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he said, and his hands went to his trousers.</p><p>Evan seated himself on Martin’s cock quickly, only his sharply inhaled breath giving away his discomfort. His cock was flaccid, and Martin suddenly knew that he’d been drinking so much for this very reason. He didn’t want to enjoy it. </p><p>Martin felt a sharp stab of irritation go through him, annoyance that Evan would try to distance himself from this, from what they were doing. He angled his hips as best he could, tilting them up, aiming for Evan’s prostate. He knew he’d found it when Evan’s eyes went wide and he gasped.</p><p>“No, I-“ he said, and tried to move away, to lift himself off of Martin, but the old man’s hands suddenly clamped on his hips, forcing him back down.</p><p>“Yes,” he said, and forced Evan to rock down into Martin. Evan shook his head rapidly eyelashes fluttering.</p><p>“No,” he said. “No, no, no.” But he was already going pliant and easy on top of Martin; already his body was betraying him, hips starting to move along with Martin’s as he thrust. Martin wondered how long they’d had to work on him to make his body so responsive. How much of it was Peter’s doing. He decided it didn’t matter. It was good, he thought. Good to give in, to let it happen. To allow the family to bring them to their god in this way. Evan knew that, even if he had to be reminded occasionally.</p><p>As if in response to his thoughts, Evan moaned, tilting his head back onto the old man’s shoulder. Tears glistened on his cheeks. “No,” he said again, grinding himself down. “No.”</p><p>He didn’t last long after that. When it was done, Evan seemed more wrecked even than Martin, passively following as the old man tugged him off of Martin’s body and pushed him gently into one of the chairs. Then  he moved back to the table and unbound Martin’s limbs, flipping him unresisting onto his stomach. Martin heard the sound of a zip, the jingle of a belt followed by the soft sound of cloth hitting the floor. The old man's large hands rested again on Martin's thighs; he spread them roughly and that was all the warning he got before the old man’s cock was pushing inside of him.</p><p>It burned, even with how stretched out and loose as Martin was; the old man was larger than the others. Larger even than Peter, and the noise Martin made was more pain than pleasure. He was hard again, cock pressing into the table beneath him, and that hurt, too. His whole body felt like a giant bruise, throbbing in time with each thrust of the old man’s hips, and Martin gripped the edges of the table and tried to sink into it, to give himself over to the feeling.</p><p>He came yet again, and it was all pain. He cried out, then cried out again as the man behind him only thrust harder, pounding into him. Dimly, he heard his own voice begging over and over, and didn’t know if he was begging for it to go on or to stop. Not that it made a difference; this would go on for as long as the old man wished it, and nothing that Martin could say or do would change it.</p><p>At some point he began to feel like he was floating, completely untethered from his own body, and when he came back to himself it was all over and the room was empty save for himself. They were all gone as if they’d never existed and the only thing he had to show for it was his body, covered in dried sweat and streaks of come, the fingerprints from their rough treatment left in a pattern of bruises. His sore throat and aching arse. He was hard again, he realized, rock hard and desperate to come, but he couldn't bear the thought of touching himself. Just the idea made his cock throb in agony. His clothes were folded on the chair next to him; he stood on trembling legs and put them on, taking his time not because he wanted to linger but because it was all his shaking fingers would allow. Once he was in as much order as he could be, he made his way out of the room. He badly needed and a place to lie down for a while. He still felt disconnected from himself, from everything. He wondered dimly if he would remain so – if this was to be his life now, always feeling as though he were held away from the rest of the world by an invisible wall. He hoped so.</p><p>Peter was waiting for him when he stepped out of the room. “Right then,” he said, all cheerful smiles. “Now that’s dealt with, and we can go back home.” He hesitated briefly, then took Martin’s hand, threading their fingers together.<br/>
<br/>
At that touch – the first gentle touch he’d experienced in what felt like years – Martin moaned. His hips jerked, his fingers tightened on Peter’s, and he came again, making himself even more of a mess. He was grateful his slacks were black – he knew that Peter would give him no time to change, and black would hide the stain.<br/>
<br/>
Peter’s smile gained a bit of an edge. “You’re ours now,” he said, but what Martin heard was <em>mine</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider letting me know. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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